Reflections
by mudstalker
Summary: A story made up of short character studies involving the different people on the island.  There'll be seven chapters for seven characters, and who each character chooses to reflect about is surprising!  Now updated to AU- some things are canon, some not.
1. Chapter 1

The Perfect Student- the Professor's musings on Gilligan

If I were to tell you that, in my educated opinion, Gilligan is the perfect student, you'd laugh at me. If you are a professional teacher as well, you'd probably think I had been out in the sun too long. You'd say to yourself: "Gilligan, a perfect student? Why the poor Professor's gone mad! Gilligan has to be the laziest, slowest, most forgetful person on the face of the planet. It's his fault they're on the island to begin with, and his bumbling ways are what has kept them there!" And, for the most part, you'd be right.

Gilligan never did well in school. He had several counts against him. He was the kind of kid who:

Never did his homework.

Never stayed after school for help.

Never paid much attention to the lesson.

Didn't understand the lectures.

Didn't read the assignment.

Knew he wasn't any good at school and

Didn't care.

All the counts, except for the last one, are probably true. When I first met Gilligan, I wanted to slam my head against the wall. How the Skipper put up with him all those years I really didn't know; Gilligan seemed so _incredibly_ dense at times it took all my willpower not to loose my patience with him.

But then I began to notice a change in Gilligan. Or maybe it was a change in myself, I don't know. I was experimenting with coconut oil, very early on in our isolation, when I felt a pair of eyes staring at me. I looked up from my makeshift laboratory bench in my hut and saw Gilligan just standing there, his eyes wide as saucers.

"What are you making, Professor?" he asked.

At the time, I was still figuring out how to help us all survive, and I replied, "I'm trying to find a way to fire-proof these coconuts so that we can have lanterns at night."

Gilligan's eyes went even wider with surprise. "You can do that?" he asked incredulously.

I blinked. "Gilligan," I said, a little indignantly, "I'm a professor. I can do all kinds of things! In fact, what I'm working on now should be relatively simple."

Gilligan looked down at his white shoes in embarrassment. "Sorry to bug you, Professor," he said after a moment. "But I didn't have much school and... well... I think it's swell you can make things for us and all."

I looked at the shy boy, standing there, staring at the ground, and I felt ashamed of myself. "Would you like to see what I am going to do?" I asked.

Gilligan's smile lit up the room brighter than any lantern I ever made did. "Sure, I'd love to, Professor!"

From then on, every time I had an experiment going on, Gilligan always found time to stop by and watch. Many times, he "helped" me with what I was doing (in all honesty, he was more of a hindrance than a help). But the one thing that struck me as odd was how much Gilligan really did care about learning. In fact, he loved learning! Though he couldn't ever remember much from lesson to lesson, the love for learning was written in every action he did to help my project succeed; from gathering an excessive amount of coconuts to helping me run a long bamboo pipeline up a mountain.

Finally, it occurred to me one day that Gilligan was the perfect student. Though he retained little of what I taught him, he was always willing to learn it again. Every day, the world was new to him, and so were the things I taught. He was never afraid to ask "stupid" questions like regular students are, and when he didn't understand what I was telling him, he told me. In turn for my teaching, Gilligan gave me a special kind of peace. You see, I missed teaching _immensely_. But with Gilligan on the island, I had someone to teach, and that is what keeps me sane these long years of waiting to be rescued; the knowledge that Gilligan is truly the world's perfect student.


	2. Chapter 2

The Dad I Never Had- Gilligan's musings on the Skipper

When I was young, my mother worked a lot. She was never around, and I could never really talk to my father. He had worked hard too before the last war, but when he came back he was like a ghost with red eyes, skinny limbs, and cold white skin. I thought that he was like that because of the stuff he drank every night, but my mother said it was because of the war. But he still scared me, worse than a scary movie ever did, and many days I wouldn't come home till he was asleep for the night.

So, I spent all my days with Skinny Mulligan. Skinny was my best friend growing up. He was a goof and was funny; always clowning around. Boy he was swell! We had a fun time doing crazy pranks. We scared the girls on our street, and built a clubhouse out of scrap wood. When we were older, we even sold kisses at the county fair! We never made much money, though. And when we got older, Skinny got in more trouble.

I got in more trouble too, until one day a police officer told my father he better do_ something_ with me. My father gave me a week to get out of the house. He said that I was a disgrace, that I was no son of his. I wasn't sure I'd ever been. Well, I didn't have any place to go, so I joined the Navy. I always loved playing with boats in the bathtub, and I figured there wouldn't be anything much different, right?

Wrong! Even from the first I was busy, with "Gilligan do this," and "Gilligan do that." I don't even know where Gilligan came from; I was called that the first day of boot camp and out my real name went. It wasn't so bad being busy, though. When I was busy I didn't have time to get into trouble. When I had free time, the guys on the boat roughed me up.

One day, I was on the dock when three guys came up. They started yelling at me, calling me "dummy" and "stupid." I was getting really mad, but if I told them to stop they'd only hit me like they did before. Then, one of the guys jumped down on the dock and began pushing me around. I knew he was too big for me to fight, and so I started backing up. I was really scared this time; more than I'd been yet, for that sailor had the same look in his eyes that my father had after he drank. The other two sailors backed up their friend, and in moments I was at the edge of the dock.

"What's the matter, dumbo?" their leader said. "Can't swim?"

I know this was stupid, but I thought if I told the truth I'd get the guys to lay off me. "No," I squeaked. "I can't swim."

The man's eyes lit up like it was Christmas. "Oh, _really_?" he grinned.

It was right at that moment that the Skipper jumped on the dock. Only I didn't know the Skipper yet; this was the first time we met. The Skipper barked out, "ATTENTION!"

The men snapped to attention, though sloppily. I could have done _so_ much better.

"Sir," the man slurred.

The Skipper growled at the three men. "If you are not off this dock in five seconds flat I'm going to flatten the lot of you! Now get!"

Everyone ran before the Skipper, cause he is so big and no one messes with him. I ducked my head in fear, cause I thought the Skipper wanted me all to himself.

"What's your name, crewmate?" asked the Skipper.

"Gilligan, sir!" I replied.

The Skipper paused. Finally, he asked, "What were those men going to do to you?"

For better or worse, I had to stick to the truth. "They were going to drown me, Sir. You see, I can't swim."

I thought I had lost all hope now. The man'll probably berate me, thrash me, or worse!

A hearty chuckle was the last thing I expected to hear. "Well," the Skipper called kindly, "If that's all that's bugging you! Swimming is easy; come here, let me show you how to do it."

I looked at the large man, weary still. "Go swimming, right now?"

The Skipper grinned. "There's no better time like now," the Skipper stated. "Besides, a sailor should know how to swim."

And just like that, in the middle of his time off and everything, the Skipper taught me how to swim.

Over the years, the Skipper has taught me many things. Sure, he looses his temper. He calls me stupid and dumb from time to time, and I get mad at him too (though I think I deserve it). But he never holds a grudge at me, and he _always _makes sure I'm okay, even if he's mad at me. I'm his little buddy, and he's my big buddy. Only he's much more to me than that, though he'll never know how much more cause I only wrote it in my diary. Guys don't tell each other mushy stuff like this, but I love the Skipper like I'd love a father. He's the dad I never had.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Okay, just so this is clear, these character studies are how I perceive how the characters _could_ be. I've been a fan of Gilligan's Island for a long time, but in all honesty, I think that some of the reviewers are taking these characters way too seriously. Really, the characters in the show are very shallow. Often, they never develop past their iconic characterizations. And as for canon; each episode of the TV series is set up to basically repeat itself over and over again! If this story is bothering you too much... don't read it. I just write fanfic for fun, and I don't mean any offense.

Anyway, sorry to all of you who are just trying to enjoy a different take on the characters. Make way for chapter three.

**Disclaimer (for the entire seven chapters): **I do not own any of the Gilligan's Island characters; they are all the properties of Sherwood Schwartz.

A Decent Man- the Skipper's musings on Mr. Howell

The first thought through my mind as I looked at that pompous rich man climbing aboard my yacht for that fatal three hour tour was, "Just like the rich." You'd probably be disappointed to hear that coming from me, but I've worked very hard my entire life... and I could see he never had really worked, even for one day. You'd scorn me now, but you don't know how the Howell's came aboard.

The Howell's came with _everything _they could fit into the cabin below. We were just going on a three hour pleasure cruise! What on earth did they need all that junk for? Really, it had to have been a show of wealth; box after box was loaded aboard the yacht by their porter, who by the end of the parade was sweating like a pig. I felt sorry for him.

I watched as the Professor and Gilligan got the boat ready. I nodded greetings to the girls and began to warm up the propeller. I warily eyed Mr. Howell as he came forward and began ordering me to do this and to do that. As if he knew how to sail! But I held my temper. Anyone knows that a Howell means money, and Gilligan and I were poor enough; too poor to be choosey about our passengers. Not that anyone could ever be choosy with a Howell!

The first weeks after the shipwreck were really difficult, too. The Howells never worked, _ever_. Gilligan and I built their hut. We caught their food and took their watches, staying awake double time after long hours of striving to survive. At the time, I was too angry to notice all the good the Howells were doing, especially Mr. Howell. But that's a fault of mine; I'm too quick to judge. I loose my temper quite fast. After two weeks, I had enough!

A major fight occurred, one that may have been prevented if Mr. Howell had done the work I'd asked him to do. It was really easy; all he had to do was dig some holes for the tiki torches the Professor made. A half-hour would have had those poles in the ground! And with all the things I had to do that day, I was never in camp to nag him to finish.

When I got back that evening, I was carrying a huge load of firewood. I got back a little late, and the camp was dark as pitch. I wondered why the torches weren't lit, and then I tripped over Gilligan, who was digging the hole that Mr. Howell _should_ have dug hours before.

Firewood went everywhere! An hours work had been scattered across the camp, and it was so dark I wouldn't be able to find it till morning. Rage seethed like fire in my veins, and in a fury I stormed off towards the Howell hut. I don't want to go into the details, because I feel bad enough about what I said as it is. Let's just say, I told Mr. Howell what I thought of him. Every pent up feeling from the two weeks we were trapped came out, and then some. There were things I had no right to say, insinuations I had no right to state. But I stated them all, and when I was finished, I felt strangely... hollow.

I stormed back out of the hut, only to trip over Gilligan again. This time, I sprained my wrist. Gilligan ran to get the Professor, and I lay in a muddled heap in front of the Howell's hut. And then I heard something I'd never heard a grown man do before. I heard Mr. Howell... crying.

"Oh, Lovey!" he hollered, loud enough for me to hear, "Lovey, that man! How dare he insult a Howell! Oh, Lovey, I tried to help dig the holes this morning, but... I have no idea how to use a shovel!"

I sat there dumbfounded. I had no idea Mr. Howell didn't know how to dig! It was such a basic action for me, I forgot that Mr. Howell had been raised on a silver spoon and probably never had to even pick up after himself. And as I thought this, I realized that life on the island must be really hard for him! The rest of us were just going about our day to day work, when the Howell's had to adjust to a completely different way of life!

By this point, I was very ashamed of my actions. Gilligan came running up with the Professor. The Howell hut became very quiet; I don't think they knew I was outside. The Professor asked if I was alright, and I replied that I sprained my wrist. I tried to get up, but my wrist couldn't take the strain of my weight. (You see, I wanted to get _away_ from the Howell's hut.)

Suddenly, the Howell's hut door opened, and out came Mr. Howell. "Is there anything I can assist with?" he asked.

The Professor, not knowing of my argument, said, "Mr. Howell, do you have anything that could serve as a brace for the Skipper's hand? An old shirt, perhaps?"

I cringed, glad that it was so dark no one could see the redness of my face. I waited for the indignant onslaught from Mr. Howell, the rebuttal I had never let him have. It never came.

"I'll do better than an old shirt," Mr. Howell stated. "Why, I have a brace with all of my golf gear. It's for my arthritis; always flares up on the course."

In a moment, Mr. Howell had retrieved the brace, and he himself had put it on. "Mr. Howell," I started shakily. "Look, I'm sorry about what I said. You know, I get so angry sometimes, and well... I didn't know... that is, that you can't..." I faded off. Apologizing has always been very difficult for me. But I meant this one from my heart, and Mr. Howell knew it.

"No matter," Mr. Howell stated. "You're a sea captain, and entitled to a fiery temper. I know I haven't been doing as much work as the rest of you... perhaps you can show me how? After all, I'm not really good at working with my hands... that is, unless you want me to sign checks."

I smiled, though Mr. Howell couldn't see it. "I'd be happy to work by your side," I replied.

We've been living on this island a long time now. Mr. Howell still has days where he does nothing. I still have days where I loose my temper. But in my opinion, Mr. Howell is a real friend. We count on him just as he counts on us. And I think Mr. Howell is a really decent man.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: **I have now changed the summary of the story to include AU as well as regular canon, so the summary will not be misleading anymore. I truly _do_ care about my writing; if I didn't, you'd have a story chock full of grammar and spelling errors. Anyway, thanks for the reviews! A double thanks to callensensei for helping me with the AU idea! Enjoy chapter four!

My Unfading Flower- Mr. Thurston Howell III's thoughts on his wife, Lovey.

Being rich, I have seen many beautiful women in my day. Of course, being born to privilege has it's drawbacks- not many, but being chased by women is one of them. It seems rather picky of me to state so, but believe me, when you are a single young rich man you get most of your exercise running _away_ from prospective mates. At least, that's how it was in those days. Now, people have an appalling _lack_ of motivation; they marry only for love. You see, I was immensely lucky. I married well _and_ for love.

The first time I saw her face was at the Miramar Cotillion. In those days, the dances at the Miramar were something else! All the Harvard men would impress the ladies and shame the Yale boys, and everyone would have a grand time. By midnight, the Yale men would leave in a huff, and then the party would really begin! I usually entered around midnight, though. I could never stand those Yale men.

Well, I came in late and the first face I saw was hers. She was standing by the doors to the terrace, taking in some fresh air. She was alone, and had nestled herself in between some gigantic bouquets of roses. But the lady was too beautiful for the roses; she outshone them all. I was surprised that no man had claimed her hand yet.

I moved to go to her side, but one of my college buddies stopped me. "Don't you know that she's a Wentworth?" he inquired. "You'd have to be a duke or a prince to get her hand."

I frowned. "Is she really that picky?" I said rather huffily.

"Oh, no! The girl's a real topper! It's just... her family is really strict, you know?"

My smile returned then, along with my resolve to win the lady's hand. I promptly thanked my college pal for his input and promptly threw it out the window. I wasn't used to being told no.

I smiled as I approached her, a boyish grin from ear to ear. I was dashing in those days, and I knew Shakespeare from heart. I recited a sonnet before I even inquired her name, and I saw her face brighten with pleased embarrassment. You see, no one else had dared approach her.

We spent the entire evening together, finally breaking apart when the chauffeurs came to get us around five (the proper time for an exclusive party to break up). I was amazed at the sincerity and beauty of this woman. Of course, I thought her kind of forgetful at first, but after a while I found that was a redeeming quality. She never remembered to hold grudges (for long).

We spent all summer together, gallivanting in the evenings when parties were in full swing. I attended every garden party, and she attended every sports outing. We knew it was love after the first few weeks; we no longer would say, "I", we said "we."

Alas, as tragic tales go, her parents found out about our romance. We were forbidden to marry! Well, being forbidden never stopped a Howell. The Howells are known for their courage! Their strength in adversity! Their sheer natural ability to climb up ladders to third stories... well, that relates back to Uncle Lester, whom I shall not discuss here. Suffice it to say, my princess in her tower was willing to elope with me, and I was willing to throw caution to the wind. So, like the noble kings of old, I stole a ladder from the window-washer, saddled up my polo pony, and sneaked out to the Wentworth house in the middle of the night.

She was waiting for me, dressed in a beautiful white spring dress. It wasn't exactly a wedding dress, but I believe she never looked lovelier than she did at that moment.

I began to comment her on her good looks. "My, you're lovely," I meant to say, but due to the darkness my lovely bride stepped on my hand and it came out, "Love-EEE!"

The screech awoke her parents, who in an instant had the grounds flooded with light. My lady and I scurried down the rest of the way, and no sooner than I had her situated on my polo pony than I heard her mother begin to scream. I jumped up beside my bride to be, and we rode off in a flurry, gunshots masking the sound of my horse's hooves.

"Thurston," she said as I was trying to steer the wild steed, "I just love what you called me back there."

"What is it, dear?" I asked as the horse rattled through the Wentworth woods.

"Lovey," she said. "It's much better than my real name, Eunice."

"Well, I'll agree to that," I replied, still trying to keep us from falling headlong into a ditch.

"So, could you call me that from now on? Please, Thurston?" she begged.

"Alright, I'll call you Lovey! Just let me steer this thing..." I replied.

"Oh, good!" she said excitedly, not noticing the strain in my voice. "I'm glad."

It's been many years since I told the story of our courtship, but never have I once regretted what I did. True, Lovey and I have our little spats, as all married couples do, but each day I find something more about her to love. The way she has acted through this entire dilemma; she mothers the other castaways, she listens to everyone's problems, and she throws us parties to help us all unwind. She is always making sure we are well, and never have I seen a kinder nurse in times of sickness. She is truly beautiful to me; as beautiful as she was the night I met her. The night I happened to catch the eye of an unfading flower in the midst of wilting roses.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Whee, just got back from spring break! It's nice to get away sometimes, but it's even better to come back :) Warning! This story is slightly off-canon. I hesitated before posting it, please don't kill me. Thanks to all who have been reviewing; I'm flattered that you'd spend the time reviewing back in such detail. Two more stories to go!

A Girl After My Own Heart- Lovey's musings on Ginger

With all this reflecting that everyone has been sitting down doing, I thought that I'd also contribute and write down some of my own feelings about being stranded on this island. I'm writing this myself, so it may break off in some points. You see, I don't have a secretary to dictate to, and being my own secretary is a hard job. I really don't know how others do it... but anyway.

As I was thinking about what to write about, regrets came to mind. Of course, being the cream of society like Thurston and I were, regrets were to be expected. After all, one cannot help but miss the night of the Miramar Cotillion! And then there are all the balls, the fancy dress affairs, the garden parties in the summer, the culture season! Opera, the races, the coming out of the debutantes, tea with Prince Rennie; there are so many things that I miss. I think if I wrote a list of regrets I'd be at it for weeks and I'd use up all of the Professor's paper.

But the one thing I don't regret about this crazy island (besides getting to know some of the kindest and genuine people Thurston and I have ever met) doesn't really have to do with me at all. I am happy we got shipwrecked on this island... for Ginger's sake. When I first met Ginger, I was thrilled to know a movie star! Of course, a theater actress is much more of a statement in the set I'm from, but movie stars come in at a close second. I wanted to know everything about her; for one of my faults was that I used to collect people like the Professor collects plant specimens.

As I got to know Ginger, I found that, for all her glamor, she was really a very shallow person. I was disappointed after the first week of our rescue, though I never told her. I was disappointed in her personality; in the way she treated the men like they were her toys and we women like we were beneath her. I disliked her beauty, and disliked the way she always used her body to "steal the show," as they say. And yet, I am about to write an even more painful confession. I disliked Ginger... because when I saw her it was like I was looking into a mirror.

Well, perhaps my reflection analogy is not _entirely_ accurate; after all, I've changed a lot since I married Thurston. Yet, when I was younger I was just like Ginger. I had it all; beauty, money, talent at socializing, and powerful friends. Many people do not know this, but before I eloped with my darling Thurston... I was engaged to marry a prince.

He was not a very important prince; the cousin of some royal heir had given his family the title way back when and he inherited it from his family. He had a darling little estate in England that was rich with history and money, and my family couldn't have hoped for more. He took an interest in me one year during the Wentworth Cotillion, and despite him being several years my senior, I encouraged his advances. He was handsome; thin for his age, and still fit. His eyes were a most remarkable blue. Yet, those eyes held no love in them. At the time, I did not notice. I was a young rich girl, and we were not expected to have any dealings with _love_.

This prince was really in fact a nasty man. He had a temper that raged worse than the hurricanes we have on the island, and there were times when he would speak so cruelly to me I wondered why I was going through with my parent's wishes and pursuing this dreadful relationship. But he, in my opinion, held all the cards; he had everything I desired right then. All that I wanted... and none of those things were what I_ really_ needed.

Fortunately, I met my beloved Thurston, and for the first time I experienced true love. I've trusted him ever since, and I've never wanted to be parted from him (though I tell Thurston I do when we are in a fight). The prince went off mortally offended, but strangely that didn't matter to me that much. I was tired of living in fear of the day when his temper finally grew out of control.

Seeing Ginger brought all those memories back out in me. Ginger is a calculating woman, one who knows what she wants and knows how to go about getting it. She does not accept failure easily, and she balks at hearing the word "no". She shrugs off correction, too; Hollywood has given her too tough of a spine, to where it is kill or be killed. If she lived in that environment much longer, she probably wouldn't have held out well on this island. But it was lucky for her that we were shipwrecked before she could turn into the empty shell that film stars are nowadays. And we have been the better for it, too!

Over the years, Ginger has proven to be a kind sister and daughter to both Mary Ann and I. She helps with the men as well, for she learned what type of... encouragement was needed when it was needed, and she reined herself in. Ginger learned how to use her talents to raise the hearts and the minds around her, and to become their support. She learned how to do all this just by being trapped on this island, and I believe that this was the best thing that ever happened to her. The island saved her from herself, and in turn she learned how to save us. And for this reason alone I will rip up my list of regrets with relish and declare that I love being shipwrecked. For being shipwrecked just happened to save the future of Ginger, a girl after my own heart.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note**: This story is also quite off-canon, but in my defense not much is really known about Ginger's past except her list of screen credits. Also, to my knowledge, there is no such town as Torrance, Idaho. Hope you all enjoy; this one has so far been the hardest to write. One more to go...

The Woman Who Can Do Anything- Ginger's musings on Mary Ann

When I first broke into showbiz with Merlin (the magician), I buried my hometown roots behind me and became "Ginger Grant." It may surprise you to know that this is not my real name, well, at least part of it is not. It's not unusual for actors and actresses to change their names; we often don't want fans to know who our real families are. Besides, often our names aren't conducive to stardom. When I was young, I lived in Torrance, Idaho, and my full name was Caroline Ginger McCollum. I grew up like any other child; in a happy home with my mother, father, and _extremely_ practical older sister.

Well, it was _almost_ a happy home. Ever since I was young, I _constantly_ heard my mother saying, "Why can't you be like your sister, Kristy?" "Kristy does all of her chores when she gets home, why do you have to be nagged?" "Kristy gets good grades in school, why are you struggling?" The list of comparisons would go on and on! I think it would have been better _had _Kristy have been a brat about the whole situation; then at least I'd have some foundation for hating her. Yet, Kristy was perfection in action, always kind and loving to me when it seemed no one else was. If you've ever been the younger child in a sibling rivalry, you know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. She gave me no room to even compete with her, and I could find no complaint. I began to grow bitter.

While my sis was off being Miss Goody-Two Shoes, I developed a wild streak. Not that I'm complaining about that; that wildness has helped me develop into one of the world's favorite glamor queens! But it was hard to develop that streak under the watchful eyes of my parents, which in the end probably saved me, for I channeled all my frustration into the only avenue acceptable to both my parents and I: acting.

The word _still _sends shivers down my spine. I LOVE acting! To be someone else, if just for a little while, is so therapeutic. To have someone else's problems and have them solved in a day... that's what I wanted for my own life. My teachers saw that I had talent, and they quickly moved me into better roles. I became the first lady of all my high school's productions by sophomore year. While my sister won contests in home economics, I was receiving standing ovations! Yet, I don't believe I ever saw my mother or father in the audience during a single play... acting was acceptable to them, nothing else.

When I became eighteen, I took off and never looked back. I had arranged to live with my Aunt in California, where I hoped to make my start breaking into showbiz. I tried to tell my family of my plans... but I never did get up the gumption. Finally, I told Kristy on the day I was leaving. How she cried! I had never expected that, and for a moment my resolution wavered. But then I remembered all the times I had been compared to her, and I took off anyway. I was too young to know how I'd hurt her.

I found a talent scout right away; I knew I had to be in the right places and hang around the right crowd. I ended up as the beautiful assistant for Merlin the Mind-reader. The first rehearsal he gave me my stage name.

"Caroline McCollum is a name for a prairie woman, not a glamorous assistant," he sneered. "Tell me, have you come up with a stage name?"

"Well, my middle name is Ginger," I began hesitantly.

"Ginger," he said with a smile. "Ginger. I like it! It has a playful ring to it. And now, your last name? What shall we call you?"

I thought for a moment, then looked at a poster decorating the small theater's walls. It was for an early movie of Cary Grant's, and suddenly I had my new name. Merlin must have thought the same thing, for we looked at each other and said, almost in unison, "Ginger Grant!" Thus, my new life and career had begun.

I never told anyone about my past. I always used to keep reporters guessing at my history, leaving misleading clues about humble yet unusual roots. A reporter once wrote, "Ginger Grant is a star that just burst into Hollywood like a flower bursts into bloom; where her roots are planted, no one knows for sure. One thing is certain, though. She enjoys keeping us guessing!" I miss reporters. They are fun to play with, if you enjoy attention.

And now, I am stuck on this island, every day loosing hope that I'll be rescued in time to resume my career. Unless you are really good at trolling the Hollywood scene, being an actress is a short-lived career. If you are out of people's minds for too long, you are forgotten! So, I try every day to practice my acting. Everyday, I stand out on the island for glamor and beauty... and every day, I feel like I am loosing just a little bit of value.

The funny thing about being stuck on this island is that I am stuck here with a woman who is almost an exact copy of my sister, Kristy. Her name is Mary Ann. It's funny; Mary Ann simply adores me. She's younger than I am (though, in my defense, not by much), and in many ways I appear to be her big sister. Yet she reminds me of _my_ big sister every day! And as the days go by, I begin to realize that growing up, I... missed something.

Mary Ann is amazing! She knows how to do so many things, things I would know too if I had paid attention while growing up. She's not book-knowledgeable like the Professor, nor is she worldly like... well, like me. She's wise, in an old-world sort of way. She knows how to grow things; there are flowers in bloom all around the huts, flowers she gardened herself. She knows how to cook and how to sew. She even knows how to care for those around her who are sick (although she doesn't really like this job, and usually lets me be the nurse. I won't complain about that; usually, when someone is sick, the Professor is involved in the cure. That means I get to work with the Professor, and he sure is cute!). But the most important thing Mary Ann knows is how to lift up another's spirit.

Growing up on a farm must be hard, because Mary Ann knows how to keep a bright outlook even in the most dire of circumstances. Not only that, but she helps me keep up my _own_ outlook. When I feel like I am losing value, Mary Ann suggests we rehearse a scene from a play. We'll be cooking dinner, and as we cook we'll do a scene from a movie I was once in. I'll get carried away and take the stage, only to find out an hour later the cooking is already done. Yet Mary Ann never complains, but applauds and asks for more! Her passion for taking care of us all is very much like my passion for entertaining, and I have come to realize that though we are both polar opposites... we are a lot alike.

As the days pass, my admiration for Mary Ann grows, and I know that I am proud to call her my friend and surrogate sister. Knowing Mary Ann has also made me realize how important family is, and I know that if I ever see Kristy again, I'll be able not only to apologize to her, but to understand her as well. In the meantime, I'll strive to try and learn a lesson or two from Mary Ann, the woman that can do anything.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: **Note to self: Don't write a chapter-by-chapter fic during the last few weeks of school. You'll never have time to get it done! Ah, well, I've learned my lesson. Thanks for being patient with me! Well, we are at the end of the story. Because this is the last chapter and I wanted to tie the group in again, this chapter will be a little different than the other six. Mary Ann is just so much fun to write. I hope I did not disappoint on the conclusion. Everyone enjoy, and have a good summer!

The Scariest Thing I Ever had to Cook- Mary Ann musings on the Professor

It was the worst of days. It was even worse than a hailstorm during the second hay-cutting, if you know what I mean. Now that the ordeal is over, I can laugh and relax, and pretend like I knew what I was doing all along. But really, in all honesty... I was terrified.

I'm just an ordinary, plain girl. I knew I was plain ever since I started to work as a clerk in Winfield's General Store and the boys never even blinked when ordering their seeds. I knew I was ordinary when the first boy I'd ever dated won the school award for being the most likely to set the barn on fire. I knew I was destined for a life of mediocrity... and that's why I _had_ to have one last adventure before I settled down on the farm.

A three-hour tour with a movie star, a millionaire, and a professor is not ordinary! Rather, it was what I had been looking forward to ever since my carefully planned and budgeted trip to Hawaii rolled around. I was ecstatic- this would be something to write home about! Finally, I would have a story to tell! (And boy, if I ever get off this island, I _will_ have stories to tell.) I was not expecting the story to be a permanent one, however.

The thing is, when you are roommates with a movie star, you tend to feel... I don't really have a word for it. Under-appreciated isn't the right one, but it describes as close to the feeling as I can get. Maybe unworthy. It's not that Ginger hasn't been nice to me or anything; on the contrary, all the people on the island have been swell! Everyone's been so kind to me, and I feel very grateful for it, because I feel out of place in a lot of other ways.

You see, everyone around me is, well, kind of superhuman. You have the Skipper, who is like the strong hero of the island. The Professor can make almost anything out of bamboo and coconuts. The Howell's will always be millionaires, and will always be treated as such. Ginger can make anyone's spirits rise with just a well-timed glance, and she is marvelous in so many other ways. Even Gilligan, with all his faults, is the soul of our little group, holding us all together. And I, I hang on the outside of a world I fear I can never enter. I was always afraid I'd let the group down somehow, though how I would I didn't know. Then, the event I dreaded most came. I had to do something heroic, and it was either succeed... or fail.

The days in which the Professor was sick kind of go by in a blur, probably because we were all so worried. He had entered camp one evening looking very pale, and an unhealthy gray glow to his skin made us all the more worried. He said he was tired and just needed rest. None of us paid him any mind; after all, he is the Professor. He always knows what's to be done. It was the next morning, when he didn't look any better, that we began to worry.

Fortunately, the Professor had the where-with-all to know what he was suffering from. Unbenounced to us, he had spent the whole night preparing the written instructions for a serum; apparently he had come down with a rare disease from a bug bite. I can't remember the name now, all I remember is how frightened we all were. You see, the Professor is more than just a teacher to us; he is our doctor, adviser, counselor, chief engineer, general problem solver, and our coolest head on the island. If he died, it would be like loosing our provider! After all, even though the Skipper and Gilligan do most of the heavy work, it's the Professor's inventions that keep us living in comfort. The Professor always knows what to do. Without him, what would _we_ do?

I was afraid. So was everyone else. The Professor was always so strong and healthy; no one ever even thought that he'd get so ill so quickly. That next day, the Professor tried to complete his own list of ingredients so that he could make his serum, but he became too ill. Gilligan, in one of his finer moments, found all the rest of the ingredients from plants around the island. Then the Professor tried to mix them, but even with Gilligan and the Skipper propping him up he couldn't do it. So, he took to his bed, and gave the instructions... to me.

"It's just like fixing a recipe, Mary Ann," he explained kindly. "I have complete faith in you."

I was shocked he gave the instructions to me. After all, all of the other castaways were in the room as well. Why not give them to someone better? I tried to tell him I couldn't do it, but then the Professor's eyes caught mine.

The certainty in them struck my heart. "I know you can do this," his eyes seemed to say. "You _have_ to do this."

Ginger smiled as well, an encouraging, sisterly smile, and looked up at me from where she sat, mopping the Professor's brow. "You always were better at cooking than me," she stated.

"Yes, Mary Ann," Gilligan chimed in, "If you can make a coconut creme pie, you can definitely make syrup!"

"It's a serum, Gilligan," corrected the Professor with a pain-filled groan. "And it's a little harder than baking a pie... but I know you can do it, Mary Ann."

I squirmed as all eyes in the room focused on me. "Please, Professor," I began, "I'd do anything to help you, but what if I mix this wrong? It could kill you!"

The Professor sighed, and for a moment I thought he was not going to answer. Then, he replied, "If you don't make this serum, I will die. Either way, Mary Ann, my life is in your hands."

_Nothing_ can describe the fear that haunted me as I worked alone in the Professor's lab, following his instructions to the letter. (The boys had moved the Professor into their hut so that I could have some privacy.) As I worked, I kept getting flashes of what the island would be like without the Professor. He had always added so much to our lives; each day trying to figure out a way for us to be more comfortable. If he died, a part of our hearts would die with him. A part of my heart would die as well, I reflected. I had always thought the Professor a little too prideful, even for all the good he'd done. There were times when I wanted to see him taken down a peg or two, so he'd see what it'd be like to be a normal human like me. But as I worked, I realized that though the Professor was prideful, his pride was fully in his work. And his work was not only gadgets and things made from bamboo and coconuts; his work was his students, in this case, us. He cared enough for us to keep fighting, and he trusted me above all the others to save him. I would not let him down!

Finally, the serum was ready. The Professor looked awful! He was no longer conscious, and his skin had become terribly pale. In fact, he looked paler than snow! I gave the serum to Ginger, who used the Professor's bamboo needle to give him the shot, and we all took vigil by the Professor's bedside, waiting. Finally, near daybreak the following morning, the Professor stirred. Ginger, who had been the one awake at the time, woke us all up with a surprised gasp, and in a moment everyone was awake and watching the Professor tensely.

"Mary Ann," the Professor whispered through cracked lips.

I slipped out from behind the Skipper, feeling a little self-conscious. "It worked," I stated simply.

The Professor opened his eyes and looked at me with warmth and pride. "Thank you," he whispered, before relaxing back down and falling asleep. Silently, we all left the Professor for his nap (save for Ginger, who always liked being the nurse).

When we were outside the Professor's hut, a great cheer went up, and all of a sudden the Skipper had lifted me high up in the air, "Mary Ann is a hero!" he shouted, and everyone down below agreed. I looked at all the faces of my friends, faces filled with love, kindness, and respect. How I ever thought that these people looked down on me for just being me I'll never know. After all, it was my cooking that saved our Professor, though I must admit that that serum was the scariest thing I ever had to cook!


End file.
